


Maybe it's the Shirt

by space



Category: Hawaii Five-0 (2010)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-01-30
Updated: 2011-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-17 00:16:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/170894
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/space/pseuds/space
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Danny has a shirt malfunction. Steve is a Boy Scout. And oh-so-very helpful.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Maybe it's the Shirt

**Author's Note:**

> This is a direct result of [this post](http://hermette.livejournal.com/245379.html) by [](http://hermette.livejournal.com/profile)[**hermette**](http://hermette.livejournal.com/) in which she poses an interesting theory regarding Danny's shirt in the latest episode (01.15). Read it first!
> 
> [   
> ](http://s245.photobucket.com/albums/gg63/spacekid77/?action=view&current=theshirt-hermette.jpg)
> 
> Okay, so. I see her point. I mean, hard to argue with the utterly convincing visual evidence.
> 
> So when the button goes, and it _will_ go, who's gonna sew that shit back on? (See where I'm headin' with this?) I mean, we know FROM CANON (01.12 - Christmas ep) that Danno is pretty handy with a STAPLER, but who was wielding that needle and thread LIKE A FUCKING PRO?
> 
> Steve-o, that's who.
> 
> And also? There was [another hypothesis expounded in the comments](http://hermette.livejournal.com/245379.html?thread=11657347#t11657347) in which maybe, just maybe, we can't rule it out, that Danny and Kono had been there with Steve and Catherine the night before. Four beer bottles? We can neither confirm nor deny. ;)
> 
> So that _might_ come into play here as well. *g*

"What the hell are you doing?" Steve leans against the doorway to Danny's office, arms crossed.

It's different from any other day when Steve is generally perplexed by some action or another perpetrated by his partner, because Danny has a stapler in one hand... and appears to be trying to staple his chest.

 _Chik-clink_. "Ow, fuck!" Danny sucks his thumb into his mouth, stubbornly refusing to look at his partner or otherwise acknowledge his presence.

"Here, give me that before you really do some damage." He crosses to stand next to Danny's chair and pulls the stapler from his hand. He perches one hip on Danny's desk and places the stapler back into its rightful position, hopefully never to be molested in such a way again. "So, what seems to be the problem?"

Danny finally looks at him and huffs out a breath, holds up his hand with a clear, round disc between two fingers. "Button."

Steve's brow crinkles.

Danny motions his other hand down the front of his shirt. "Popped off my shirt. Piece of crap, they just don't make quality clothing at affordable prices anymore. I mean, how much should a person hafta pay to get dressed?"

Steve tunes him out and focuses on the major shirt-front gappage his partner is sporting right now. He's been without a tie all day and, he licks his lips, yeah, that was bad enough. But now... the light brown fuzz revealed by his vee'd neckline, the way the shirt just cups around his pecs. Well, it's no wonder the damn button gave way, the shirt is just plain sinful, even now with some of that pectoral pressure having been released.

"Hey. I'm up here, babe."

He blinks and shifts off the edge of the desk. "Be right back. Don't move."

Danny throws his hands out to each side. "What? I'm a danger to society now? One false move and the other buttons will go?"

Steve's eyes kinda go soft and hazy at that image, the corners of his mouth turning up.

"Oh, Jesus Christ, McGarrett! Just go!"

  


.:.

  
"Take it off, Danno."

It's insane. Fucking insane how that phrase from his partner's lips makes his stomach lurch and his pants fit just a little bit tighter. Jesus fuck. "Um, no. Not happening."

"What? It's not like you have anything I haven't seen before," Steve replies oh-so-logically, looking up from threading a needle, one eyebrow raised.

"We're at work. I will not be shirtless at work."

"Hm. Bummer. Rules out office make-outs then."

"Not neces... _what_? what the fuck?"

Steve just smiles and moves closer, sitting on the edge of Danny's desk, his long legs cramped up with Danny's in the chair-space behind the wooden monstrosity. "Always gotta make things harder, don't ya, Danno?" He lightly touches Danny's knee and shifts it to the side, widening the seated man's stance so he can slide his own knee in between. Economical use of the space, that's all.

Danny's kinda not breathing. It's interesting really, how his body is shifting priorities at this moment - blood flow is definitely a top-ranking system right now, as is muscle function apparently since his entire body is one tense mass chanting _I will not get an erection_ over and over and over.

And then he chances a glance at Steve's crotch and _Oh_. Maybe that shouldn't be such an all-consuming issue after all. He focuses instead on loosening the white-knuckle grip he has on the arms of his chair.

Steve's leaned in close, fingers lightly brushing Danny's chest as he pulls the placket of the shirt out a bit, places the button expertly and begins to work the needle in and out of the spun cotton.

"Wouldn't think you'd be such a prude after last night, Dan."

He's so fucking close. Danny's face feels warm, in fact, his whole body feels almost feverish. Maybe he's coming down with something. "Last night."

Steve tilts his head, meeting Danny's gaze, eyes shining with a mix of curiosity and knowledge. "C'mon Danno, it was one beer. Don't try to fake like you don't remember."

"Oh, I remember, Steve. I guarantee you that. I was just plenty focused on the two hot girls we had in our laps to pay much attention to you."

"Bull shit."

Danny can't decide if he wants to bridge the too-few-inch-gap and kiss that cocky smirk off his partner's face or go with the old standby and idly threaten him with bodily harm. Before he can make the choice ( _What? What kind of fucking_ choice _is that? You do not kiss your partner, Daniel._ ), Steve's already talking again.

"So... you and Kono... last night."

"Yeah." He clears his throat.

"Is that...?"

"A thing?"

"Yeah."

"I dunno. I... don't think so? But I don't know. Do I even do casual?"

Steve can't help but laugh a little at the sincerely distraught, not to mention utterly adorable, look on his partner's face.

Danny punches him lightly in the shoulder, thankful the needle was pulling away at the time. "Not funny, asshole." Then he looks away before continuing. "I mean, I haven't had to deal with any of this in... god," he scrubs his hand along the ever-present stubble of his chin, "...ten years now? Shit. I just feel old."

"Not old, Danno. And you'll figure it out. Now hold still."

A few moments pass where Steve just mentally shouts a hallelujah for the handiness of his Boy Scout Stitchery Badge and Danny tries his damndest not to watch how Steve's tongue sneaks out of the corner of his mouth in a god damn gorgeous picture of concentration.

And maybe Steve's hand slips, or maybe Danny shifted a bit in his seat, either way...

"Ow, fucker!" Danny pushes back from the desk, shoves Steve's hands away, presses a palm to his chest. "You pricked me!"

"Sorry, Danno." He moves forward, pulling at Danny's hand. "Let me see."

And maybe it's the sincerity in his friend's voice, or maybe Steve had stabbed the part of him that lives for fighting and temporarily disabled it. Either way, Danny moves his hand without argument and lets Steve pull his shirt back, lets him examine the small reddened line of skin, barely visible through the fuzz of hair.

And if he hisses an inhale when Steve's thumb swipes over the spot, well it's just instinct. Simple pain response. A coping mechanism. And if he groans a bit when Steve leans in, placing a gentle kiss to the area, if his hips shift forward towards his partner, well, again, basic instinct.

Fuck, who's he kidding?

He cups the back of Steve's head, lightly holding him in place, feeling him moan against his chest as he nips and sucks along the rise of his right pec. "Fuck, Steve."

"Yeah," Steve mumbles against his skin. "I must be a better multi-tasker than you, Danno."

"H-how's that now?"

"Cause while I had a lap full of 'hot girl' - your words, but yeah she fuckin' well is," Steve lifts his head, the hint of a smile in place, his lips full, pupils blown wide. "I still made time to watch you."

Danny's whole body feels heavy; eyes hooded, he's utterly entranced by one Stephen J. McGarrett. He doesn't see one single thing besides this man, filling his vision, his mind, his office, his life... his heart. "Fuck, Steve."

"Yeah, you said that already. Is that a request, Danno?"

And that face. That one _right there_. Danny's seen that one before, several times, just a glimpse.

And the most recent occurrence?

Last night.

Oh, shit.

He can't help it, it's like he's a fucking magnet and Steve's lips are the opposite polarity and he just lunges to meet him, right there in the middle, and it's give-and-take and he's dominating Steve's mouth, but then retreating, only to have Steve pull him back in and take his mouth like he fucking owns it - and it's not much of a stretch to say that Danny would gladly let him have it if he promises to always take care of it like this.

And before he knows what's happening, Steve's gripping the front of his shirt and just pulling, like it hardly takes him any effort to strip every button from the placket of his fucking piece of shit shirt and then he's just plain assaulted by Steve's mouth going down down down, _oh, fuck yeah, down_.

  


.:.

  
A respectable amount of highly satisfying minutes later, the pair lay sprawled on the cool tile floor, half-hidden by Danny's desk, half... not.

Breathing hard, Danny flops into Steve's side, tucking his face into his partner's neck and just inhaling exhaling that warm, sun-kissed, Hawaiian Tropic scent that is pure McGarrett.

"Danno's a cuddler." Steve declares, wrapping an arm around Danny's shoulder and holding him close.

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, think we just covered that one."

Cocky bastard.

Steve nuzzles his stubbly cheek against the top of Danny's head, his fingers threading and pulling through the wayward strands. There's no fucking way he's gonna be able to deny this sex-hair. Not without a shower and a gallon of product.

He feels Steve lean forward just a bit, his lips resting lightly against the smooth patch of skin just in front of Danny's ear, his tongue darting out for the slightest of tastes. Then he feels his collar being pulled back (um, yeah, the shirt never quite made it all the way off), like Steve is looking at the tag.

"Uh, Danny?"

"Yeah, babe?" His limbs are heavy, sated. They're gonna have to move soon or he's going to be asleep. And sore as fuck in the morning.

"Is this... my shirt?"

Danny just smiles. "We'll make a Detective of you yet, Commander."

 _fin_

  
&hearts  



End file.
